Page 30 of Inventing Vivian

“And what is your name, miss?” Benedict asked.

“This is Molly Archer, Your Lordship,” Dewey said. “Jack’s sister.”

The girl’s eyes were wide with panic. “Jack’s well enough to work, sirs. Just needed a moment’s rest. He’s all right.”

“Surely you can see he is not,” Benedict said. “How do I notify your mother, Molly? This boy should be at home.”

She put her arms around her brother’s shoulders. “No, please, Your Lordship, don’t send him off.” Tears filled her eyes.

“The children’s parents are in debtors’ prison, my lord,” Dewey said. “Molly and Jack work to pay the debt.”

Benedict felt an ache in his chest as he looked at the children. Molly was probably close to ten and Jack a year or so younger. How could they possibly save enough money for their parents’ release when they earned mere pennies a day?

“Who takes care of you, Molly?” Mr. Thomas asked in a gentle voice. “Where do you live?”

“Charing Cross Orphanage, sir.”

Benedict could see by Mr. Gallagher’s shuffling feet that the delay was costing money. He was ready to send the boy away and replace him. And, based on Molly’s reaction, the job wouldn’t be waiting when he got well—if he ever did.

Benedict put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Molly, go to the front gate and find my carriage. It is large with black horses and a gold emblem on the door. The footman’s name is Lawson. Bring him back directly.”

Once she left, he helped the boy stand.

Jack coughed, bending over, and Benedict handed him a handkerchief, keeping a hand on his arm to steady him. “There, there, lad. We’ll see that you’re taken care of.”

Once the boy’s coughing had stilled, Benedict led him toward the exit. They had taken only a few steps toward the door when Lawson came in with Molly. When he saw Benedict, he strode through the room to meet him.

“Lawson, this lad needs a doctor’s care immediately.”

The footman was large with broad shoulders and thick arms and easily swept the boy up in his arms. “Yes, Your Lordship.”

“Deliver him to St. Mary’s and tell them to send word of his condition to his sister, Molly Archer, at Charing Cross Orphanage.” He was glad his brother had contributed so liberally to the hospital. Benedict thought his title alone would have been enough to secure the best care in the city, but having an entire wing of the institution named after his family didn’t hurt either. “Tell the doctor I’ll be along to see to his progress.”

“Very good, Your Lordship.” Lawson left with the boy.

Benedict turned to the girl. “Once Jack is well, he will have a place here,” he said. “Set your mind at ease.” He looked at Mr. Gallagher, making certain the man had heard his promise.

Molly wiped tears across her cheeks with clay-stained hands. “Thank you, Your Lordship.” She curtsied, and giving a nervous glance to Mr. Gallagher, she hurried to gather the measured clay into her apron to deliver to the potters.

“Yer Lordship,” Mr. Gallagher said. “Don’t you want to see the painters’ studio? That was always your brother’s favorite part of the tour. In fact, he hardly concerned himself with these sorts of things. Rather more interested in the finished product, you see. We have some gorgeous patterns.”

Benedict ignored him. His head and heart ached, and shame filled his throat. “Come along, Mr. Thomas. We’ve two more factories to visit today.” He gave a brisk, dismissive nod to Mr. Gallagher.

Since his carriage was taking Jack to the hospital, Benedict walked with Mr. Thomas to the vinegar factory. He appraised his companion. Benedict had interviewed a dozen men for this position, and Mr. Thomas had been by far the least qualified. But something in his manner—an openness where others acted cold and proper—had set Benedict at ease. He’d known instinctively that Mr. Thomas could be trusted. But more than that, the man had proven himself willing to go along with Benedict’s nontraditional ways of doing things. He’d also been willing to correct him, which Benedict found refreshing. There was nothing worse than a person who perpetually agreed with everything one said.

“If the conditions in the other factories are anything like what we saw in the pottery, I believe some changes are in order,” Benedict said.

“Yes, Your Lordship.” Mr. Thomas nodded thoughtfully.

“And if you would please arrange an appointment with Mr. Wilson, he manages the duchy’s philanthropic interests.”

“Very good, Your Lordship.”

They continued walking in silence. The people scurrying past looked different to Benedict than they had this morning. He saw despair in their eyes. Hopelessness. Fear. He imagined they worried for sick children, for lost wages, for debtors.

If he’d not spent years with hard-working peasants in China, would he have ever noticed the plight of the poor in his own city? He hadn’t given it a passing thought before, but he was a new man now, a man who’d been fortunate enough to be born into wealth, and today he realized that with it, he could make a difference.

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